


Game Night

by RenegadeLibrarian



Category: Hawkeye (freeform), MCU, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky DMs an RPG, Multi, and Steve is a jackass, and grown-up words, and you should seriously check out ser comic about it, based on bluandorange's headcannon, because it's pure awesomesauce, casual ableist language, we're not exactly surprised
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:59:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3184685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenegadeLibrarian/pseuds/RenegadeLibrarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Xavier suggested Bucky run a roleplaying game for a few people he trusts, the plan was for him to practice making decisions and controlling an environment in a low pressure situation.</p><p>Nobody really accounted for Steve.</p><p>(Based on bluandorange's comic/headcannon)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Game Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bluandorange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluandorange/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Avengers playing GotG](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/93344) by bluandorange. 



> So, if you're not already following bluandorange, you probably should. Ze writes the most snark-tastic, emotionally resonant Steve and makes gorgeous art. This is based on ser comic: http://bluandorange.tumblr.com/post/101827855795/so-ive-got-this-headcanon-that-guardians-of-the )

 

                Sam struggled to keep hold of the bags while jiggling the key in the stubborn lock.

               “Steve?” Sam called into the apartment. No answer. “I got your text. Get out here and help me with this crap.” Below, a car horn blared.

               “Steve? Hello?”

                Steve’s bike had been tucked against the side of the building but the apartment was dark. “Bucky? Clint? Where the hell is everyone?” The groceries were slipping, so he kicked the door closed behind him and hustled inside. “Should I be suiting up or something or can I just assume this is poor planning on your parts?” Sam muttered, jostling the bags onto the counter and flicking the light switch. The kitchen was oddly…empty.

                “Where the fuck is the kitchen table? Did you guys get robbed or something?”

                Natasha popped her head into the room, “We’re back here. Come convince them to be less stupid.”

                “In what world am I responsible for those two losers?” Sam tossed his jacket on the couch and grabbed a six pack of the herbal soda that Pepper had gotten Natasha hooked on. He spared a glance at the blender, and the enormous purple puddle dripping off the counter and onto the floor. “What _exactly_ are said losers drinking tonight?”

                “Clint made milkshakes. I warned him not to.”

                “Great. Souped-up jackasses on a sugar rush.”

                “Did you get the chips?”

                “Yes.” He grabbed them out of the sack with his free hand.

                “Okay, then you can come on back.”

                Sam followed her down the hall to Bucky’s bedroom. What little furniture it looked like Bucky usually kept in his room was pushed against the walls at uneven intervals. Sam couldn’t tell if that was normal or if it had all been shifted to accommodate the kitchen table and chairs, a leather ottoman and the lavender exercise bike circled loosely in the middle of the room.

                Clint perched on the footboard of Bucky’s bed, one arm raised above his head, waiving a pair of spangled boxers. Steve and Bucky sat cross-legged on the floor, Steve’s hands resting palms-up on his knees. Both were staring with stone-faced intensity that usually only showed—at least on Steve—on particularly difficult missions.

                “On your mark, get set…”

                “Oh, my god.” Sam handed Natasha the six pack of her soda, “I’ll be right back. I am not nearly drunk enough for this.”

                “Wait, come back, we need another judge!” Clint shouted. “Tasha! Make him come back.”

                “Watch it, or I’ll join him.” Natasha leaned back in one of the kitchen chairs, letting her boots thud against the table. Well, not _her_ boots; they were probably Clint’s.

                “Awww, come on…” Clint cajoled.

                “I told you, this is stupid. Stop glaring. That goes for _both_ of you. It won’t change anything, everyone already agreed on the rules.”

                “ _I_ didn’t,” Sam shouted back.

                “Oh, shut up!” Clint barked. “On your mark, get set…SLAP FIGHT!” He threw the boxers between them like a racing flag.

                Steve’s thumb twitched and Bucky narrowed his eyes. Neither moved beyond the slow rise and fall of their breath and the occasional twitch. Sam leaned against the door frame, sipping his beer as he surveyed the contest.

                “I’ve got five bucks says Bucky wins,” Clint mock-whispered to the room at large. Natasha rolled her eyes again and pulled a knife out of her (Clint’s) boots and began carving tiny notches on the edge of chair arm.

                Sam scoffed. “Yeah? Well, my five bucks is on Natasha getting bored with you guys and taking all the food with her. I thought this was supposed to be game night?”

                “Slap fight is a game.” Clint sniffed. He kept his eyes on the pair of still soldiers.

                “Okay, therapist-recommended game night, then.” Sam amended. “Because if you try to say that this little disaster right here was Xavier’s idea, then I’m telling him you said that. And hiding until the debris settles.”

                “Might not have planned it like this, but Xavier supposed to be the psychic. Shouldn’t take a psychic to figure out that Stevie’s a _dick_.” Bucky hissed, never taking his eyes off Steve.

                “Yeah? You’re the one who’s going back on the rules. Said I could be anything I wanted.” Steve looked like he wanted to move but he kept himself still.

                “You’re the punk who can’t play the game without turning into a godddamn asshole!”

                “Aaand, on that delightful note, Natasha? What the fuck?”

                “Xavier recommended a role playing game. He wants James to practice making more complex decisions for himself as well as for the rest of us. So, Bucky’s supposed to run it, he gets to control the world, while we get to control the characters in the story.”

                “I’m familiar with the concept,” Sam pushed Natasha’s boots off the table and set his beer down. He dragged the ottoman forward but kept an eye on the two idiots glaring under Clint’s beaming supervision. “What I’m less familiar with is Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dumbass over here trying to kill each other with their minds.”

                “Steve gave Bucky his character sheet.”

                “Yeah? Was he not supposed to?”

                “He’s a raccoon.”

                “Well, that certainly presents…a narrative challenge.” Sam opened the chips. He deserved them for putting up with Steve. Bucky probably did, too.

                “Don’t forget about the gun fetish!” Steve crowed and Bucky’s hands darted forward. Steve pulled his hands back in time and slapped the shit out of the back of Bucky’s knuckles. “Ha! I win! I’m playing him!” Steve bounded to his feet, high-fived a cheering Clint and groaned with satisfaction as he settled back into his chair at the table. He snatched a chip from the open bag in Sam’s hand.

                “You fucking cheat.” Bucky growled but he looked more annoyed than angry. Or, at least, Sam thought so. Reading Barnes’ expressions and emotions correctly was something they were all still working on. Barnes included.

                “Don’t be a sore loser, Buck. So, Sam, where’s _your_ sheet?” Steve smirked as Bucky and Clint settled in the other two chairs. Sam knew better than to trust that smile. That smile had gotten him in a metric ton of shit over the past three years.

                “You told me to bring food. You didn’t mention there was homework.” Sam pulled the chips out of Steve’s reach and offered them to Barnes. Salt and vinegar was his favorite flavor.

                “I have your sheet.” Natasha arched to pull an oddly folded piece of paper out of her back pocket. “Sorry about the origami, Clint did a thing.”

                “It wasn’t ‘a thing’!” Clint moaned. “I folded an origami dinosaur of epic proportions. Now look at it. It’s a shame no one appreciates me around here.” Clint sighed dramatically and slurped from the abandoned milkshake on the table. Probably not even his own, Sam thought. Clint and Natasha apparently believed that stealing your food and—sometimes—your clothes, somehow communicated friendship. Sam wasn’t even sure Natasha _owned_ any of her own clothes, he’d yet to see her wearing anything that he hadn’t seen someone else wear first. Coulson had practically teared up when he’d bitched about it at the liaison meeting last month. Everyone in this new world he’d tripped into was fucking weird.

                He grinned. It was hard not to like the idiots.

 


End file.
